Ch. 8: Some Shit You Can't say Out Loud

"Okay, fuck this worksheet."

Kael slammed his pencil down and shoved the paper across the desk like it had personally offended him.

"Math again?" Riven asked, not even looking up from his phone.

"No, it's torture. In number form. How the hell do letters and numbers even mix like this? It's not a crossover episode."

Riven raised an eyebrow. "You're complaining, but you've written the same equation three times with the exact same wrong answer."

Kael gave him the finger.

Riven smirked. "You want help or not?"

Kael paused, chewing on his lip. "Depends. Are you gonna be an asshole about it?"

"I'm always an asshole."

"Fair."

Still, Kael scooted closer and handed the paper over. Riven glanced at it, grabbed a pen, and scribbled something next to the messy numbers.

"Here," he said, pushing it back. "You kept forgetting to isolate the variable."

Kael stared. "...Wait, that's it?"

"That's it."

Kael flopped back on the floor like his soul had left his body. "Why does everything feel harder when I'm already stressed?"

"Because your brain's doing twenty things at once. You gotta shut the rest out."

Kael turned his head to look at him. "You make that sound easy."

"It's not," Riven admitted. "But it helps to talk."

Kael let out a tired laugh. "Damn. You really went full therapist on me."

"Shut up."

They lay there in silence for a while. The late afternoon light slipped through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. Everything felt quieter than usual—not awkward, just… muted.

Kael stared at the ceiling. "You ever feel like you've got all this shit inside you, but saying it out loud just makes it worse?"

Riven was quiet for a moment. Then: "Yeah. All the time."

Kael exhaled. "I hate it. Like, I want to talk about it. But every time I try, I freeze. Or it comes out sounding stupid. Or—fuck—I just end up more confused."

Riven rolled over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. "It's not stupid."

"You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"Doesn't matter. If it's something you're carrying, it's not stupid."

Kael blinked. "Jesus. You are a therapist."

Riven smirked. "A hot one."

Kael choked on a laugh. "Oh my God."

Riven shrugged. "Just saying what we're all thinking."

Kael looked over, and for half a second—just half—he forgot how to breathe. Riven was smiling. Not the sarcastic, guarded kind. A real one.

Warm.

Soft.

Kael sat up too quickly. "Okay, time for snacks."

Riven's brow quirked. "You good?"

"Yeah. Just. Need chips."

He practically fled the room like it was on fire.

Downstairs, he yanked open the cabinet and stared inside like it held all of life's answers. His heart wouldn't slow the hell down.

"What the fuck, Kael," he muttered to himself.

He hadn't meant to react like that. It was just a joke. Riven joked all the time now. They both did.

So why did that smile mess him up like that?

He grabbed a bag of chips and stood there, fingers tightening around the packaging.

It wasn't just the smile.

It was the way Riven looked at him sometimes when he thought Kael wasn't paying attention. The quiet check-ins. The late-night talks. The softness beneath all that guarded shit.

It felt like falling. Slowly. Quietly. Fucking terrifying.

"Shit," Kael whispered.

This was bad.

He went back upstairs and tried to act normal. Tossed the chips at Riven. Sat down like nothing happened.

Riven didn't ask.

But his eyes lingered for just a second longer than usual.

And Kael knew—he knew—that Riven had noticed.

He just didn't say anything.

Some shit was better left unsaid.

For now.